


This is a Cat-astrophe, Martin. Get It? Because There’s a Cat-

by Neverlastingforever



Series: Jon/Martin Oneshots [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like mutually pining idiots, Season/Series 03, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unlock secret smug Jon, You get the idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverlastingforever/pseuds/Neverlastingforever
Summary: It starts with a text.Martin:hey jon can you come over its an emergencyMartin:not like an emergency emergency but still kind of an emergencyMartin:like take your time and finish what your doing but also please do come at your earliest convenienceIt ends with cats.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Jon/Martin Oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892716
Comments: 16
Kudos: 308





	This is a Cat-astrophe, Martin. Get It? Because There’s a Cat-

**Author's Note:**

> Hey-o, I’m back with another anon prompt from my tumblr. The prompt this time: _If your looking for jonmartin prompts, have you ever seen that tweet thread about the guy who found out a stray cat had snuck into his house and then had kittens under his bed? Imagine that but jonmartin_
> 
> This fic takes place around mid season 3 and will not contain spoilers for later seasons, except one (1) reference to the fluff episode. Enjoy

Jon had checked his phone seven times in the last two minutes, flicking it out and turning it on to read the message notifications, before slipping it back into his pocket like a nervous tick. The same texts were still on his lockscreen. It was still no less concerning.

Martin: _hey jon can you come over its an emergency_  
Martin: _not like an emergency emergency but still kind of an emergency_  
Martin: _like take your time and finish what your doing but also please do come at your earliest convenience_

It was not Jon’s earliest convenience.

No, he still had so much to do and so many things he was lost in the progress of, not to mention his general dislike of leaving the Archives as a whole, but the instant his phone pinged with the first notification he’d been out of his office and onto the street no questions asked. By the time the second and third texts rolled around minutes later, his rapid pace didn’t bother slowing.

He got on the tube and got off at the correct destination, pocketing his phone after his eighth re-read, so that he could maximize his speed. The route was only just on the edge of familiarity, since he hadn’t been to Martin’s apartment since the paranoia… stalking... incident. Jon had called it something else. A sort of… inconvenient method of gathering personality and behavioural data. Or something. Didn’t matter.

The point was that Jon was for once not heading to Martin’s new flat for some ill-advised spying but rather because Martin had not shown up in the Archives today, which Tim had already proved to be bad for one's health, and despite the fact that Jon had a million things to do and had just been kidnapped by clowns last week, Martin had directly asked for his help which meant this was at least one thing that Jon could try to do right.

It was later in the afternoon, which meant that Martin had been holed up in his flat for who knew how long. Was it worms again? Some other Avatar of Corruption? Or an Avatar of the Stranger, like the kind that had been stalking Jon? This was why Martin should start sleeping at the Archives like Jon was, it was much, much safer, really. Besides Elias. But as far as wretched old capitalists went, Elias had only directly murdered two people as far as anyone knew, which was much better than many of the other rich were doing.

Jon was checking his phone for new notifications for the forty-seventh time when he got to Martin’s floor in the apartment complex, and he shoved his phone away again and straightened before knocking a bit desperately. There were no signs of forced entry, nor worms, nor empty bottles of moisturizer, nor weird doors, nor burn marks, nor dirt, nor…

Jon knocked again after a full twenty seconds of waiting, and was going in for his third bout of knocking when he heard noise from within and Martin pulled the door open.

Martin looked… fine.

Jon stepped in to look him up and down fully, and thankfully Martin was wearing shorts and a t-shirt which let Jon get a better idea of if he was hurt or not. There was no obvious blood or bandages but perhaps he could get Martin to remove his shirt entirely just to check for hidden wounds or worm holes-

“S-Sorry!” Martin stammered, taking a step back which annoyed Jon. He wasn’t done fretting yet, but Martin had backed off and he looked a bit red so was it an encounter with the Desolation then? “I, um, was going to change into something nicer. Just. I didn’t think you would be here yet? You didn’t say you were coming and… Did- Did you come right after I texted you? You know it wasn’t, um, that much of an emergency, right?”

Martin’s face was still red and he was holding his hands in front of his chest, which again, was blocking Jon from making sure he was alright. “You’re not hurt?” Jon asked, since it was obvious Martin was not going to stand still for him. He glanced up at Martin’s face, searching for any fear, or pain, or… or… Was Jon doing something wrong?

Martin was looking at him with his lips pulled back tightly and red cheeks and ears and wide eyes and he looked uncomfortable. He… wanted Jon here, right? That’s what his text had said, Jon had checked multiple times.

“N-Nope!” Martin squeaked in a high reedy voice. “No I- No it’s not that kind of emergency. Is-Is that why you were looking at me like... um… nevermind!”

Jon peered around him and into the rest of the flat. He’d never actually gotten a look inside before, but he could see the small kitchen and living area from the doorway, finding it to be a pretty cramped space, smaller than Jon’s old flat (before he lost it while he was hiding at Georgie’s. He still hadn’t bothered to find a new one, instead staying with her or in the Archives). There were cardboard boxes stacked in corners, labeled with sharpie, which proved to be belongings yet to be unpacked. The apartment was not fully moved into, yet Jon was fairly confident that Martin had been living in this new flat since after Jane Prentiss’s attack on the Institute.

“D-Did you want some tea? Or um, lunch? I guess it’s a bit late for lunch, you’ve probably already eaten… I hope. Oh! I was going to have you stay for dinner though. I was going to invite you over before, um, the thing happened. Right. It’s just that you’ve been at the Archives so long that I figured we could both use a break so I thought that maybe… you could use a home cooked meal?” Martin said, fingers twisted together, staring at Jon.

“I… sure? So there’s no…” Jon gestured to the room, “Fire, or infestation?”

“Uh, nope, none of that. Not in this flat.”

“And you’re not, um, hurt at all?”

“No.”

“There’s no… avatars after you?”

“I certainly hope not.”

Jon paused with his hands awkwardly hovering. “Just… dinner, then? That’s the emergency?”

Martin vaguely bounced his head and sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Well, no, not exactly. Dinner is just, um… a reward? Yeah. I meant to say I’ll make you dinner for helping me deal with the emergency, which I thought I clarified in my texts isn’t really an emergency? I mean it is something that I need help with today especially, but you really didn’t need to rush over here and I should probably just show you them since I didn’t want to leave them alone too long anyway and…”

“Martin,” Jon said, clearly and crisply. “What.”

“J-Just, follow me, they’re in my bedroom,” Martin said instead, gesturing Jon over to one of the only two adjorning rooms.

Jon, thoroughly confused, followed him in socked feet after removing his shoes at the entrance, still wearing his coat and a readiness to get Martin and himself the hell out of the flat if it turned out that whatever Martin was showing him wasn’t friendly.

Jon heard them before he saw them when he entered the room.

He couldn’t identify the sound at first which made him pause at the threshold. An animal. Definitely several animals.

Martin walked over to his bed and crouched down beside it, pulling farther out the only drawer that had been left open a good six inches. The noises intensified immediately. It was… mewling.

Jon stared as the drawer fully opened to reveal at the back of it a mother cat and three kittens curled on Martin’s clothes, the mother’s eyes wide and startled as she observed them over her crying kits, but she didn’t make an attempt to get up. Some of the clothes had been pushed aside so that a water dish and some food could be placed within easy reach.

Martin sat back and looked up at Jon expectantly.

Jon looked at him, then back at the cats, then back at him.

“Martin, _why are there-?_ ” but then Jon had to stop himself, because he’d noticed that he could feel the static of compulsion like unpleasant grit on the back of his teeth, tumbling around and adding a faint tingling numbness to the inside of his mouth. He tried again.

“Martin, _could you explain-?_ ” No, still static.

Jon swallowed, straightening, curling his fingers in an attempt to ground himself with the slight pain of his burned hand, taking a deep breath as Martin watched him.

“It would be very nice of you to explain to me what is happening,” Jon said all in a rush, mentally screening for static and/or question marks. “Please. There are cats under your bed.”

“Yes,” said Martin. “There certainly are.”

“ _Why-?_ ” Jon winced at the press of more static. No questions. “I would like to inquire about them.”

“O-Oh, um,” Martin turned back to the cats, fingers nervously dancing on the drawer handle. “W-Well, they, um, just showed up today. I woke up, and I found a cat under my bed, and apparently she had kittens during the night. So that’s cool.”

“A pregnant cat ended up under your bed,” Jon stated. “Elaborate on that.”

“I can’t,” Martin said weakly. “I have absolutely no idea how she got here. I’ve got no idea how she got into the flat, let alone under my bed, I’ve never seen her at all before and I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do now. I guess I’m a dad?”

Jon wandered over from where he’d been standing in the doorway of the room, careful to avoid a few bits of strewn laundry, and sat down beside Martin so he could peer into the drawer better. Their knees brushed, and Martin flinched away.

“Ah, sorry,” Jon said immediately, moving to put more space between them. He’d sort of forgotten that he was… not great to be around, let alone to come into contact with. Nobody liked touching him. There were all the scars, and his personality, and the slowly encroaching fear entity making residence within him… Right, it was better that Jon stayed away in general, but he also didn’t quite want to move farther right now. He might not be able to see the cats as clearly.

“I think Georgie had cats with kittens when she was growing up,” he told Martin, instead of addressing the voyeuristic god in the room. “I’ll text her and see if she can give us advice.”

“O-Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Martin said eagerly. “I’ve been googling stuff all morning, on how to take care of kittens. I guess I am taking care of them now. I’m not sure what else to do. I-I guess I didn’t really need you to come over, I probably could have figured this all out on my own, but I just-“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jon said, looking up from his phone to offer Martin what he hoped was a comforting smile. “I really did need a reason to get out of the Archives and just…” He breathed out. If he closed his eyes, he could feel himself back in that wax museum. He could see the mannequins. He could see the door. He could remember clearly what it was like to reach forward to open it and choose death. Here though, when he looked, all he saw was wriggling kittens mewling quietly, and a lot of very soft fur that his fingers itched to run through. “Well. I’m very much a cat person.”

“Oh you are?” Martin said with obvious surprise. He was looking at Jon now with wide eyes and a nervous grin, and Jon wasn’t really sure what else to do but look back. “I-I didn’t know that about you… well, I don’t uh, know a lot about you or anyone to begin with, so um…”

Jon looked down. “Sorry. I suppose I’ve never been the most open person…”

“No, no, that’s okay! I didn’t mean to imply anything I just um…” Martin let out a short laugh, before mumbling in a way that very much was not for Jon’s ears. “I just can’t seem to say the right things today, can I?”

“Are you a cat or a dog person?” Jon blurted, and was retroactively relieved that he didn’t detect any static in his throat.

“Oh, a dog person!” said Martin just as hastily. “N-Not that I mind cats of course. I mean, I am a father now. But I always thought it would be nice to get one of those really big and fluffy dogs, you know? Something huge to hug and cuddle with. Though I suppose I’d need a way bigger place to house a dog like that...”

“You could keep it in the Archives,” Jon offered. “I mean, one dog almost ended up living there, why not another? Not to mention that personally I’ve been considering adopting a cat to live with me at work. I’d put the litterbox in Elias’s office.”

Martin snorted, an honest to god snort, and brought up a hand to cover his mouth. It was… honestly quite cute? Jon wondered if he could get him to make that sound again. To laugh or smile. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?

But then Jon’s phone chimed and he looked down to read the texts. “Oh! Georgie says she’s got some advice and pointers she can give us on how to help care for kittens. She says she’ll tell us when she comes over, because apparently the payment for her help is to let her see the cats in person.”

“Coming over?” Martin said. “Like, right now?”

“Uh, within the hour, yes. She’s apparently not doing anything else right now, if that’s okay with us.”

“O-Oh, yeah. Um. Of course. Just, uh… just was going to get supper started soon, for us, is all… Wasn’t really expecting extra company.”

“Oh!” Jon echoed, feeling like an idiot. “Right, um, I can run to the store if we need extra food? Uh, what were you planning to make, I can get things-“

“That’s not the _point_ , Jon,” Martin said a bit too loudly, voice tight. He turned away as the kittens began to mewl again, fidgeting with the clothing at the edge of the drawer as the mother cat gave him a perturbed expression. “There’s plenty of food. Georgie’s welcome to supper, of course she is why wouldn’t she be, I just- I just thought it’d be nice if it was just… us, for this evening. Just… me and you, you know? We… haven’t really gotten to spend time together, recently.”

“Oh,” Jon said softly. He turned his head away too, fingers picking at the bedroom carpet. Was it… Did Martin mean… mean to say that…to imply that? Jon would never ask though, and Martin would never tell. In the dim lighting of the room, with the sun coming in through the small open window, Jon could see his own hands and arms with his rolled up sleeves, and the skin there, besides its scars, was still smooth from being moisturized ceaselessly. In the light, it was so pristine, so smooth and glossy, like wax, or porcelain... or plastic.

“I can do supper tomorrow too,” Jon found himself saying, before his brain finally caught up, and his ears went a bit red. “W-What I mean is, I’m free to come over tomorrow as well. So- So then it’ll just be the two of us! Um. So Georgie will be here today, but tomorrow it’ll just be us… if that’s alright?”

Martin’s fingers stilled, but he didn’t look over. “No offence Jon, but it took a minor emergency just to get you over here today. I-I don’t doubt you mean that, but you always get so caught up in your work and- and I get it! The world is in danger, we have a circus to stop, but I just… nevermind. You don’t need to come over tomorrow. We’ve… We’ve got bigger things to focus on then a meal.”

Jon was looking at Martin again. He- he didn’t know when it had happened, just that his heart was twisting at Martin’s expression. His face held melancholy, maybe, with a frown and half lidded, defeated eyes, idly watching the young kittens squirm amongst his clothes. Jon bit his lip and deliberately shifted his weight, so that in the movement his shoulder lightly brushed Martin’s, on purpose this time, and no one flinched. Martin looked up. And Jon didn’t look away.

“Well,” Jon said carefully, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t regret this. He wasn’t sure that this lost time wouldn’t cost them in the future. That the lives of everyone he cared about would be forfeit because he chose wrong in this moment. But really, Jon was scared he’d lose Martin anyway, if he didn’t at least try to set things right in this moment. “Y-You’re not wrong. I-I do get caught up, um, in the Archives. But. If it’s alright with you… and if it’s not too much trouble… Perhaps I can just stay the night here instead? So that I don’t get caught up in work. I-I mean, I don’t have a flat to go back to, so I’ll end up on someone’s couch tonight anyway, usually Georgie’s or the Institute’s... But um, if you won’t mind a guest tonight then-“

“Absolutely!” Martin blurted, and both their faces were red, and when had that happened? Martin cleared his throat, looked down, then back up, and Jon couldn’t get over his own weird internal temptation to just reach out and hold Martin’s head still with both his hands pressing into his cheeks. “I-I mean yes! Of course you can stay over, um, I-I’ve got a couch! Well, that’s not very comfy to sleep on… You can take the bed! Er, well, that’s got cats under it, but um, I-I’m sure we can figure something out!”

“Martin, it’s fine, I’m good with anything,” Jon insisted easily, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder, which seemed to placate him, Jon was pleased to find. He was about to mention how he’d basically slept on the floor of his office with just his coat as a blanket while Martin had been using the cot, or about how he’d spent the last month falling asleep tied to a chair, or not sleeping at all… but thought better of it at the last moment.

The cats meowed very loudly then, drawing both their attention.

“My landlord is not going to be happy,” Martin mumbled. “I’m not even sure if they allow pets in this building or not, I’ll have to check…”

“ _They allow them,_ ” Jon answered immediately, then blinked at his own certainty, something like vague static fluttering in the back of his skull. “I, um, I think. I must have seen a sign or something on the way in. Or if not, then maybe we can keep them at the Archives.”

“Oh what,” Martin snapped. “No dogs in the Archives, but cats are allowed?”

“You can’t possibly still be upset about that!”

“I most certainly can! It took a full six hours to catch that dog and get it out, and now suddenly you can just decide to let animals in if you approve of them first?”

Jon couldn’t help it. He snorted, a few faint laughs escaping him that he tried to smother. He couldn’t help it, because Martin was right. Once upon a time Jonathan Sims would be exactly that man, using his newfound authority as head archivist. Now it was just, well, sort of funny. A joke. The only authority that Jon had anymore was the ability to tell Elias to fuck off, and that was not near as satisfying or as effective as he wished it to be.

Jon startled slightly, as he felt something brush against his fingers which were braced on the edge of the drawer. One of the kittens was straining forward, sniffing it, and the mother, eyeing the behaviour, moved herself so that she could stretch out and sniff his hand too. Carefully, suppressing a smile, Jon extended a finger and gently brushed it over the mother cat’s head. She seemed pleased at least, resettling with a half hearted purr as she closed one eye and kept the other absently open to watch them.

Jon pulled away slowly after a moment, folding his arms up in his lap. At least cats still liked him, despite the monster he was becoming.

He turned to Martin, about to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but then he felt his ears turn red at the way that Martin was looking at him. All wide eyed and mouth slightly agape, and it was at that moment that Jon realized he hadn’t really been suppressing a smile at all, and instead had been absently grinning to himself as he laughed and then petted the cat and then turned to Martin and then…

Jon cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Do, um. Do they have names yet?”

“Oh! Oh, um, no, not quite, uh,” Martin stammered, and it took a second before he appeared to gather himself and looked away from Jon. “I’m really not sure what to call the mother, but I was thinking of naming one of the kittens Epiphany? I know it sounds stupid but-“

“Oh, like the title of one of your poems?” Jon asked, pleased.

“I-! Wah- No- Not like-! How do you even-? Why would you even-? I can’t-“ Martin cleared his throat, and Jon would have laughed at how red Martin’s face could get, if he wasn’t also flushing as he realized his own mistake. “J-Jon. Did you… _read_ … some of my poetry?”

“N-Not really,” Jon stammered, spontaneously finding the carpet to be very interesting. “There was just some, um, papers left in the back room, after you moved out, and I was cleaning them up and I happened to have, um, glanced. At some of the contents, yes. A-And if it had been poetry, that I’d accidentally read, then hypothetically I could say that it was rather, um, good poetry, at that.”

Jon waited a full ten seconds before risking a look back up, to find Martin with his brows scrunched and his mouth open. “You know what,” Martin decided, swiftly turning back to the drawer. “I’ve thought of another name. That one’s Epiphany, and this one over here will be named Jonathan-Sims-Is-An-Awful-Human-Being, how does that sound?”

“Martin, no-“

“Or how about Jonathan-Sims-Cannot-Respect-Privacy-Or-Boundaries?”

“Martin, please-“

“Jonathan-Sims-Is-The-Worst-And-There-Is-No-Way-I-Will-Forgive-Him-For-His-Transgressions the Third.”

“Martin, I am so sorry-“

“Is there a cat pun I can make with the word archivist?”

“Maaaartin!” Jon moaned, face covered by his hands. He heard Martin laugh, just for a moment, before warm hands were tugging his arms away and he could see Martin grinning at him, his touch warm.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop. But-“ Martin added. “I do know what to name the second kitten now.”

“Dare I even ask?”

Martin smiled wickedly at him. “Their name is Jonathan Sims.”

“Martin, please don’t. I am so, so sorry please don’t do this.”

“Johnny for short.”

“No amount of apologizing will correct this, will it?”

“Not even remotely,” Martin confirmed, leaning forward and waggling a finger at the kitten. “Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

Jon sucked in a deep breath, counting the bumps on the popcorn ceiling. “Fine. What’s the last kitten going to be called?”

“O-Oh. Um, I actually have no idea. I was going to let you name that one,” Martin answered. “You know. Since I’m the nicest.”

“Mmm,” Jon mumbled noncommittally. He studied the kitten critically. The mother cat was a nice black with white features, and the kittens were combinations of her. There was the greyish black one with white paws and a heart shaped blotch on their back, named Epiphany. The greyish black one with no highlights called Johnny. And the last one, a black kitten with a giant smudge of white consuming half their face. “How would you feel about The Minister?”

Martin choked. “I-I thought The Admiral’s name was an outlier…”

“Or The Duke? Or The General? No, hmm. I have to say I am quite liking The Minister as a name. Very formal. Very political. They have very important things to say.”

“Oh good lord…” Martin huffed. “Of course they have very important things to say, they’re a minister! Look at their tiny face!”

Said kitten presented to them its tiny face. Jon and Martin cooed accordingly.

“The mom probably needs a name too, right?” Martin spoke up. “Something dignified.”

“Mmm.”

“You got something?”

“Just- hear me out here, Martin.”

“Oh boy.”

“Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

Jon sucked in a breath, then met Martin’s eyes. “Catastrophe.”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“N-No, listen, she’s the one responsible for this disaster, right? Her decision making skills are what led her to have kittens under your bed. So- So what better name than Catastrophe? It’s elegant, it’s chaotic, it’s a pun… Get it, Martin? Cat-astrophe? Because she's a cat?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“It’s a very powerful name,” Jon said with a self assured nod.

“I’m willing to name her Chaos, but not Catastrophe, because while you have a point, I am forced to disagree with you on principle.”

“Are you though?” Jon reasoned. “Are you sure you have not considered all the benefits of naming her Catastrophe?”

Martin sighed, pinching his brow. “Yes, Jon, I am perfectly sure.”

Jon was smiling, and Martin was smiling, and they were looking at very cute, very soft cats and Jon just- It was nice. It was so nice. And the thought that Jon would be able to stay here today, and tonight, and into tomorrow… there was something fluttering in his stomach when he looked at Martin, and maybe with enough time he could put a name to it, but now… For now, this was good enough.

In a fit of bravery, and maybe stupidity, or perhaps just being very stubborn, Jon grabbed Martin’s hand, clutching it between his own two hands and bringing it up to rest between them as Jon stared at Martin’s face and softened and smiled and said: “Georgie is going to side with me when she gets here. Cat-astrophe is a great fucking name.”

And he delighted in seeing very close up and in detail every cell of Martin’s face turn red one by one as he lost grip on reality and stuttered out a very loud, and very indignant, “FuCK NO!!!”

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to the Mag Fluff episode when I was halfway through this and it shows
> 
> Out of Jon and Martin, who would be the most likely to make a pun? At first I wasn’t sure, but then I realized that it would absolutely be Jonathan “You know you can be so infuriating sometimes!” “I know :3” Sims and you all know I’m right
> 
> I’m inactive as hell, but you can also find me over on my tumblr @neverlastingforever


End file.
